THURSDAY NIGHT SQUALOR PART 3: BACK IN TRAINING

Once again, I’d like to welcome you all to another deeply unattractive episode of TNS. For the .07 of you that viewed it, I know I mentioned that Annie’s mom would be visiting that weekend in that little YouTube doodad I made for the previous installment, and had implied that this might result in an apartment that was cleaner and even less interesting than usual. Well, I’m here to report that apparently Annie’s mom evidently no longer merits upkeep of any sort in our minds, as the apartment is as filthy and poorly orchestrated as ever, although I feel it’s worth mentioning that I did wash and put away the crockpot. Isn’t that fantastic? Mail me five dollars.

Bring on the errant hair ties!

KITCHEN TABLE:

Other than our ever-stunning floral centerpiece, do you remember ANY of these items from last week’s episode? I sure don’t! This is all new, new stuff! New new! I just bought those Munchos about three 1/2 hours ago! They have no idea how lucky they are. Lately I’ve been rekindling my torrid love affair with Munchos. They’re about as delicious as life gets. Like the butteriest packing material an angel ever manufactured. I guess that means I like them. Moving on, doot de doo, I’m retarded…

I got that Powerade at Angelo’s the other night. It was way more delicious and thirst-quenching than I was prepared for, but it provided none of the promised energy. I have never felt like doing anything remotely athletic after drinking stuff like Powerade and Gatorade and Schnooblydooblyade. Isn’t all that crap basically Kool-Aid? Well, ISN’T IT? ANSWER ME! BASTIAN, SAY MY NAME! GODDAMMIT, BASTIAN, THE WORLD IS GOING TO EXPLODE, SAY MY NAME OR I’LL CUT MY FACE OFF WITH THIS KNIFE AND EAT IT! DON’T LOOK AT THE ROCK GUY, HE CAN’T HELP YOU! HE’S A ROCK! WHAT WAS I TALKING ABOUT BEFORE? OH RIGHT, POWERADE, BASTIAN, WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH IT? ARE ELECTROLYTES EVEN A REAL THING OR IS IT ALL JUST A BUNCH OF AD-AGENCY MUMBO-JUMBO? COME ON, BASTIAN, ANSWER ME! I DRINK POWERADE A LOT, I SHOULD KNOW MORE ABOUT IT!

Look at them little muffins, aren’t those somethin’?! Annie’s mom brought those over for us. They came from Annie’s sister’s father-in-law, who evidently has unlimited access to free tiny muffins. We really weren’t given a satisfactory explanation. I know, I’d like to know more about it myself. He’s a weird dude, what can I tell you? Long story short, they’re disgusting. As you can see, however, I’ve eaten most of them. All I ask is that I don’t have to prepare it. It really is that simple and sad.

Apparently that UMaine hat to the lower-left cost Annie $15. The University of Maine: An Unending Knife-Cock Up the Brownie Hatch Since 1865.

I believe all six of the bottles that used to occupy that empty Amstel Light sixer are accounted for somewhere in this blog. Find ’em all!

We bought those periwinkle curtains at Target last Saturday. Don’t they look fabulous on our kitchen table? Look, we’re TRYING, people. We bought the curtains. The curtains are in our house. What do you want from us, a miracle? Are we a couple of Jesuses over here or what? Mr. Jesus and Mrs. Jesus, that make any sense? You think Jesus married himself, bought curtains at Target, and put ’em up the minute he got home? That isn’t how it works. Grow up, how about that?

There’s some roll type things in the background there. Those are also something Lorrie’s father-in-law got free somehow, and they’re even less tasty than the mini muffins, which is actually kind of impressive.

Take a wild guess where that weird little cake and that tubey-creamy monstrosity came from? Yup, more complimentary pastry whatsits from Lorrie’s pappy-in-law. Maybe these are pranks that somebody who hates Lorrie’s father-in-law constantly leaves on his doorstep. I’m starting to think it’s anything but a perk. The little cake is inoffensive enough, and it’s sort of fun to eat dainty little triangles of it. We’re both pretty scared of that other thing. I had a piece of it, and for the life of me I couldn’t place the flavoring. It’s partly just regular old creme frosting folded into a giant swiss roll, but there’s a glistening amber ingredient that flat-out refused to identify itself, either on the label or in my mouth. But again, free, and already prepared, so I’m sure we’ll be enjoying it as a main course soon enough.

I took several pictures of the strange free cakes.

See? Cakey-wakey doodle all the ding-dong day.

It’s sinkmastime in Hollis, Queens!

SINK:

Gosh all get-out, I love a good sink. Instead of “I Love a Parade”, it should be “I Love a Sink”. Parades are so five minutes ago, as the girls in “Clueless” might say! Sinks are the new parades! And here is ours, still chock full of plop-encrusted plates. I did do a load of dishes at some point in the past six or seven days, but it sure don’t look like it. Oh wait, look, the silverware cup is full of reasonably clean utensils, including the white plastic ladle that was so unthinkably sullied last week! Also I think the stuff to the right is mostly now occupied by recently dirtied dishes, so that could be worse, right? Concur at once.

There’s some more proof that I washed some things. See, on the dish rack back there? A few plates, couple bowls? Those are clean. So fuck you!

In the foreground, the fifth drinking receptacle to the right is a Chippendales mug that we bought at an otherwise disappointing church rummage sale. If you look close enough, you can just make out his purple Speedo. It was a Methodist church sale. They don’t really care about sin too much.

COUNTERTOP:

Wow, look at all this great new stuff! Shazam!

All right, “My So Called Life” is still stinking up the joint, but most everything else is new! There’s a better look at my work nametag! And the can opener! I can’t even imagine what we might have used that for this week. Far as I can remember, we ate nothing but take-out since last Thursday. I find it hard to believe one of us was idly admiring it. Although we did recently downgrade our cable package. Some more crazy school books for Annie there. I’m fairly certain I’d rather write a screenplay on my left eyeball with a pencil than read any of them. And Keebler Club Snack Sticks! Don’t tell us we don’t know how to pamper ourselves! And could that be the tape measure that usually hangs out on the coffee table, so nicely curled and resting atop M.S.C.L.? What an amazing night of potentially heart-stopping discoveries full of irrepressible wonderment!

Jiggers! A little red coffeepot! We got two coffeepots as wedding presents. This is the one that doesn’t get used much, as in “not once”. I think the deal here was Annie dug it out with the intention of maybe making some coffee in it and then relocating it to the computer room, which is where we’ve talked about keeping it (a good idea), but found out that we need to buy smaller coffee filters before we can use it. And thus, here it is, on the kitchen counter, 1/3 full of water, where it is likely to remain for the forseeable future. I don’t know why my bread is on top of it, but I guess it’s as good a place as any. The only better place I could think of might be the bread box, conveniently located directly behind it. That’s usually full of unpaid bills, though.

Seriously, someone call the “Dress My Nest” guy. We need help.

COFFEE TABLE:

We’re running into a lot of snafus with both Time Warner and our landlady regarding the possibility of getting cable set up in our living room, which used to be our bedroom. Since there’s still no working TV in there, we don’t hang out in it much, and as such, not much gets put on the coffee table these days. But what little there is, true to form, is spread out willy-nilly, and in some cases all but falling off the table. And through it all, Arnold Palmer squints with a certain detached confusion at something in the distance to his immediate right.

I guarantee you that no Origami kit in the world has caused more marital strife than this one. I bought it as a somewhat random Christmas present for Annie, since I thought it might be at least passingly diverting and I figured the last thing she expected to get would be an Origami kit. It’s still in the box, so my assumption is that she has no interest in it, so fine, I call Border’s to ensure that returning it without a receipt won’t be a problem, and then announce to her that if she wants to return it to Border’s in exchange for something she wants more, I will take no offense and the store will allow it, no questions asked. She protests, claiming to have had no time to do anything with it yet. I take this to mean “I’m just trying to be nice, but if you repeatedly mention that you don’t mind, I’ll gladly take it to Border’s and return it”. This led to a give and take of “Don’t tell me whether I like a present or not” and “Well, it’s still unwrapped, so you obviously don’t like it” that has mostly resolved itself, but I suspect is still mildly bubbling under the surface. If and when the kit is finally opened, it will probably be used to paper cut our wrists.

There’s the how-to manual for our cable remote, just the kind of thing I’ll never use but am unaccountably reluctant to discard.

How’s that for artfully rendered surroundings? Them beers are diagonal! Someone call the museum!

The most flattering shot yet of our salt shaker, to be sure, but what I really want to focus on here is the tiny pin between the beer bottle and the ceramic chicken. That’s a Betty White pin! Bet you don’t have one of those! No idea how it got on the coffee table. I don’t remember the last time I even saw that thing. I love how belongings just kind of drift in and out of our lives, like friends, except way better, since belongings don’t call you while you’re watching a movie or try to tell you about their dreams.

What now? Oh yeah, the stupid end table.

END TABLE:

More mugs than usual. Same old big blue binder up there on the top part. And hey, a bra! Well, dog my cats, how about that!

The end table really is the weak link, I apologize again.

BED AREA:

As always, here is Annie’s side first:

Books books books. She really is working like crazy at this whole school thing. Each day I am newly awed by her diligence. That sock looks awesome.

And finally, my side:

Oh good God, that’s a bottle of ketchup back there.

I’ve just been sitting here, chin in hand, trying and fully failing to conjure a suitably disgusted turn of phrase, but I’m sorry, I got nothin’. Ketchup. That’s…yeah, that’s bad. That’s not something you keep in the bedroom, on the floor by the bed. The ketchup doesn’t go there. I don’t even…jesus…

The Entertainment Weeklys continue to pile up. I never get tired of that magazine. My love for it is pure. The bottles and cans don’t seem to be going anywhere with any haste. I don’t know what’s sadder: the fact that the McDonald’s cup from last week is still there, or the fact that I don’t remember if that’s actually a McDonald’s cup from a couple nights ago. Either way, at least it’s not in the trash can. Cause that’d be ridiculous!!!

I ain’t makin’ a movie this week, it’s too hard and I got an Uncle Scrooge graphic novel that I’m excited to resume. Until next week, stay squalid, Old Town!

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6 Responses to “THURSDAY NIGHT SQUALOR PART 3: BACK IN TRAINING”

  1. Last I checked, the Origami kit was on the love seat. I wonder how it got to the coffee table, Jeremy???

  2. Well, it certainly couldn’t have been because YOU went anywhere near it!

  3. I am happy to see the trivial trials of other cultures. At least your don’t involve duct tape.

  4. cultures? couples!! omg. Sorry, you know I never sleep, right? Think of everything I do as some sort of inspired stream-of-conscious thing, ok?

  5. Hahhahha! Wow! I knew our lifestyle was slightly off-kilter, but I didn’t know our home counted as a whole other culture! I’m so proud of us! Somebody get us a anthropologist!

    What was the deal with the duct tape, if I may ask?

  6. My darling husband would cover the house with it if I let him. Seriously, if I left for a week our house would be decorated with cardboard, duct tape, and that plastic wrap weather seal for windows. The other day I noticed that there was duct tape on one of his (bare) feet. That is the trivial issue du jour in our culture.

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